


The Case Of The Missing Baked Goods (or, John Gets Sweary)

by ms_soma



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, John is a swear-bear, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, meme prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_soma/pseuds/ms_soma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=127521473#t127521473">this fabulous prompt</a> on BBC Prompting Meme:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>John puts up with a lot of shit, but if Sherlock thinks he can just steal his motherfucking doughnuts, he has another thing coming.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case Of The Missing Baked Goods (or, John Gets Sweary)

Look, he could take Sherlock using half a bottle of his one indulgence (an expensive organic sandalwood and sunflower body wash) for an experiment. He didn’t say anything when Sherlock called him back from a football game because there was a power outage (his laptop battery had run out, and he couldn’t be bothered taking the stairs to John’s room for his). And using one of John’s favourite woolly jumpers to put out a grease fire in the kitchen rather than the pure wool scarf hanging around his own neck seemed par for the course at 221B Baker Street.

But this time, that selfish motherfucker had gone too far.

“Where are they, Sherlock?” John asked, hands on hips and eyes narrowed.

Sherlock looked up from his book with an air of nonchalance only John appeared to see through.

“Hmm?”

John appeared his usual calm self, but inside, he was seething. Muscles that had been loosened by the hot shower he’d just taken seized up again in rage. He flexed his fingers then curled them back into fists.

“First,” he started, “you push me into the god-damned Thames when it’s barely five degrees out.”

“To save you from becoming a hostage—“

“You mean to stop yourself from falling in, you selfish git.”

“Again, you see but you do not ob—“

“Second,” John said, holding up a hand to interrupt him. He never did that, and Sherlock, surprisingly, obeyed. “Second, you make me stand around in wet clothes just so you could gloat to the Yard about your brilliant series of deductions and how their feeble little minds missed it all.”

“I did not gloat!”

“Sherlock, you drew motherfucking flow charts on the whiteboard in their briefing room about how they should connect the dots more carefully next time!”

“They need to learn—“

John shook his head before Sherlock could finish his sentence.

“But this? This? That’s it. I’m done. I’m through.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as John stalked over toward the couch and grabbed the front of the arsehole’s dry-as-a-bone shirt in his fist.

“The only thing that was going to make this day remotely bearable was the scorching hot shower I was going to be taking, and the two hot jam doughnuts I was going to devour with a strong cup of tea.”

“I put the kettle on while you were in the shower, I don’t see—“

“Third,” John grit his teeth, “Third, you sanctimonious bastard, you eat both of my motherfucking doughnuts.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, although John wasn’t sure if it were due to the accusation or the language. “I have no idea what you are talking about. You know I care nothing for food.”

John huffed in frustration. “I know you think the general population are idiots.”

“Because they are.”

“But there is sugar around your lips and a splodge of jam down the front of your shirt and I am so very fucking angry right now I could throw you out your bedroom window. Five times.”

Sherlock must have seen the fire in his eyes, because he swallowed down the lump in his throat and blew a wave of cake-scented breath with his next words.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

John closed the few inches between their faces and licked the sugar from around Sherlock’s lips, sweetness bursting across his tongue. He delved into Sherlock’s mouth, feeling the warmth created by the doughnuts and absorbing the aftertaste of the sweet dough. As far as kisses went, it was rough and it was angry and John wasn’t letting Sherlock take a fucking inch of control.

When John felt Sherlock get hard against him and a wandering hand grab at his bum, he released his own hand from Sherlock’s shirt and his bruised lips from his mouth.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock asked as John got up and took his coat from its hook by the door.

“Out.”

“But we only just got home!”

“I put up with a lot of your shit, Sherlock. You want a rough shag after a case, you ask for a rough shag after a case.” He wound a scarf around his neck. “You do not try and get it by pissing me off, leaving me to get hypothermic and then stealing my fucking well deserved and piping hot baked goods. You hear?”

Sherlock regarded him curiously, like it was a side of him he had yet to catalogue.

“So the sex?”

“Enjoy the warmth those doughnuts gave your hands. That’s all you’ll be getting in the foreseeable future.”

John descended the stairs with a heavy tread. If the bakery had run out of hot jam doughnuts, Sherlock was never going to get laid again!


End file.
